


Dark Light

by TaraSulahn (ArcaBunny)



Series: Andraste on Fire [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Anger, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Rage, Revenge, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4240029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcaBunny/pseuds/TaraSulahn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The False Calling claimed Alistair in the darkness of the Deep Roads, but Arimea burns with rage enough to set Thedas aflame.</p><p>Overwhelmed by the light she finds the Inquisition and a means to get her revenge on the one who stole her love away.</p><p>But with the taste of Alistair's blood lingering on her lips, is it righteous fury that blazes through her or something far darker?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://s300.photobucket.com/user/tarasulahn/media/Mobile%20Uploads/tumblr_nqwurm4Ryn1uwqmbko1_540_zpsvhkhcl0r.jpg.html)   
> 

The sunlight seared her eyes just as the salt air scoured her throat. Eyes streaming, Arimea staggered into day light for the first time in perhaps three weeks. It was impossible to keep track of night and day so far below the surface but her food supplies had run out long enough ago that her head felt light and her stomach roiled with cramp. Not long enough for her to look at the darkspawn corpses around her with anything other than revulsion… to contemplate feeling hunger at the carrion stench of them was beyond her imagining.

She leaned heavily upon her dragonbone staff as her feet skittered through the loose shale beneath her. Eyes still blurred with tears scanned the lush green hillside as muddled wits struggled to decipher the information her senses relayed. The deafening churn of water, the harsh tang of salt on her tongue, she must be on the Storm Coast.

Arimea staggered, her knees threatening to buckle under the weight of her armour and excess weaponry as she began her decent down steep terrain. If she could find food and water, she could return to the Deep Roads and continue killing every gods forsaken ‘spawn that crossed her path until the Calling claimed her. 

The seductive song was no longer a sibilant whisper in the back of her mind, but the baying of hunting hounds scenting their prey, loud enough to drown out even the roar of the nest of hurlocks she disturbed as she slipped inelegantly down the hillside.

Cursing the Creators and her thrice dammed luck, Arimea pulled herself to her knees and felt the familiar rage seething from behind her eyes, burning through her veins and demanding release. With a feral snarl she called forth the fire, channelling it through the palm of her right hand and let it engulf the screaming horde until naught remained on the hillside but blackened bones and the prone form of one elven mage, utterly exhausted in mind, body and soul.  


  ~~~*o*O*o*O*o*~~~

The voice that woke her was almost familiar, rough but gentle as it called across the landscape

“Over here Kadan! Looks like it was another mage trying to set the world on fire… go figure” the last was muttered softly as massive hands carefully rolled Arimea to her back, callused fingers cradling her head.

“Kadan…” the first words to pass her lips in over a week slipped unbidden as she recalled another saying that word, directed at her. Her recoil was barely checked when she opened her eyes to find a hulking, horned Qunari looming over her, his one blue eye radiating a mixture of concern and distrust. Arimea put steel into her hoarse voice as she spoke, recalling the manner Sten had reacted best to

“What is your rank, Qunari?”

“Huh?” Not the reaction she had expected, Sten rarely seemed unsure of anything and when had voiced his confusion it had been with almost infuriating directness.

“Your rank, Qunari. Are you of the Baresaad? Or are you Tal-Vashoth?”

“That’s an awful lot of Qunlat for a little thing like you… are you Viddathari?”

“I… don’t know that word” She admitted hesitantly “I travelled with a qunari once… he called me Kadan” Arimea could feel herself drifting away from the conversation, the song in her mind lulling her to sleep as whiteness danced at the edge of her vision.

“Well I’ll be damned” was the last thing she heard before unconsciousness swallowed her once more.

   


  ~~~*o*O*o*O*o*~~~

After weeks of sleeping on the dank stone of the Deep Roads, the straw mattress beneath her felt more luxurious than anything Arimea could remember. The thin fabric of the blanket chafed against her flesh where she had been stripped of armour and her wounds bandaged. Her head throbbed at the moonlight sliding through a nearby window and her mouth tasted of elfroot potion; it was almost enough to wipe the taste of Alistair’s blood from her lips.

Almost.

“Ah, it is good to see you are awake” spoke a lilting voice as a pale shadow detached itself from its mundane brethren. Startled, Arimea sat up and called on the fire inside her, igniting her left arm from elbow to fingertips as she raised it up as though to ward off a blow. 

“Hush now, dal’len. I mean you no harm. You are safe here” 

In the firelight Arimea could see the speaker was an elf, tall and pale with kind blue eyes to match his soothing tone. His accent reminded her of her first home, of creaking aravels, bleating halla and wise haren. As much as she would like to trust this man who spoke with the voice of her past, she could not restrain the cynical laugh that wrest from her throat

“I have not been anyone’s da’len in a long time now, nor have I been safe. Who are you and where am I?”

“My apologies, my name is Solas; I am a mage working with the Inquisition. You are in one of our holdings on the Storm Coast. Our scouts saw you battling darkspawn and found you in a sorry state so you were brought back to recuperate. I assure you, you are safe with us.” 

Pacified, Arimea let the flames dwindle and called upon a wisp to cast softer light across the room.

“You know who I am” it was not truly a question, her head hung in resignation, her scant copper hair hiding her eyes and the delicate spirals of Ghilan’nain’s vallaslin.

“Yes and it was quite the surprise to find you still live. Our spy master tracked your movements to the Deep Roads entrance at Orzammar, but after that your trail was lost. We thought you dead in all honesty, but it will gladden many to see you well and at the Inquisitor’s side.”

“I am dead,” Arimea whispered bitterly “some parts of me just have a harder time accepting it than others.” The sight of Alistair’s dull eyes flashed before her, she felt the press of his cooling lips against her own as she whispered “Ma vhenan na din” _My heart is dead._

The sadness in the other mage’s eyes seemed genuine as he answered “Ir abalas. Mala suledin nadas” _I’m sorry. You must endure._

“Ma nuvenin. Ir asala ven vir’nan; halam'shivanas ghilana aneth ara.” _As you say. I must have revenge; the sacrifice demanded by my duty will bring me peace._

“If vengeance is all you can find to live for, so be it, but you will not find it in the Deep Roads.” Solas said sternly, his voice softening as he added “You should return to Skyhold with us, the war council they can tell you more than I. And if you decide you do not wish to aid us against our enemy, I doubt there is much anyone could do to stop you, should the legends about you be true, that is.”

Arimea was struck by the small smile that quirked his lips at the last and she was pulled from her melancholy to wonder how the tales of her exploits may have grown. There was only one way to find out.  
 


	2. The Good Left Undone

As Arimea settled into the Fade once more, Solas lay down in his own bedroll. Willing himself to sleep was the work of mere seconds as he concentrated on the unique pattern of the Warden’s thoughts.  
Not since waking from uthenara had he felt such a vibrancy of spirit and he now had the chance to satisfy his curiosity about the modern legend. She was the first elf in this mortal age to command an army, to unite a nation, to slay a harbinger of the Blight. To do all that and survive? Unthinkable! But there she lay, living, breathing proof that the spirit of the Elvhen still lingered in this shadowed age. He must learn more about her.  


Following the delicate strands of her consciousness, Solas gently wove a pattern with skill born of millennia of practice. He followed the gossamer threads of her memories back through her life as far as he could.  


The old fade walker found himself standing in the midst of a Dalish camp, garishly painted aravels surrounding guttering fires. It was obviously late, though the thick roiling clouds above hid the moon entirely. Rain fell from those thick black clouds in torrents, quenching the fires and reducing the ground beneath his feet to slick, clinging mud. The mud formed of memory did not impede Solas as he strode through the camp, nor did the rain touch him. It did, however, soak the scant clothing of the young girl who stood before him; arms outstretched and head thrown back to embrace the elements.  


Unaccustomed as he was with the aging of mortal elves, Solas would guess she was in her early teens in this memory. Her body was lean though he could see the vague suggestion of hips and budding breasts beneath the sodden shift that clung to her form. Her hair, darkened by the deluge, looked black in the dim light contrasting with the gold hue of her skin; a clear indication of a life lived outside, of working and hunting under the glare of the sun. But her face, unmarked by blood writing, was youthful. The smile she wore as she offered herself to the heavens was unrepentant in its childishness, revelling in the freedom and power of the storm.  


As lightning split the skies an answering spark skimmed along Arimea’s skin. White and purple flashes danced up her arms, twinning through her fingers before forming an incandescent arch between her raised hands. In that moment she was a creature painted from darkness and light, of barely contained destruction and beauty.  
Solas felt his heart lift at the joy on her face, sheer wonder sparkling in her eyes at the power singing through her. He could hear it in the laughter that spilled from her lips, unrestrained and wild enough that he found himself grinning with her.  


The memory shifted suddenly, disorientating him momentarily. It was a little after sunrise, the clouds having dissipated in the hazy dawn. The young storm caller sat huddled in a blanket on the steps of the largest aravel. The joy Solas witnessed mere seconds ago was gone. In its place was the desolate expression of one awaiting a death sentence.  


Her solitary vigil was interrupted by the arrival of two elves bearing the vallaslin of Mythal and carrying staves. Their features were similar enough that they could only be brother and sister, both older than Arimea by a number of years. The young man offered Arimea a sheepish smile as he entered the aravel behind his sister. Their voices added to the growing argument within and Solas began to understand the reason for Arimea’s sadness.  


The memory around him began unravelling, a reflection of the dreamer’s distress.  


Solas caught a glimpse of Arimea sitting stoically as her Keeper branded her face in the pattern of Ghilan’nain’s halla crown.  
He stood amongst her clan, watching her shoulder a small pack and leaving the camp without a backward glance.  


He was at her side as she paused at the crest of a hill, her amber eyes fixed on the towering spire set in the middle of the lake below. Wind and rain whipped her face, but her expression was blank as she surveyed the distance before her.  


And he witnessed that neutral mask withstand the scrutiny of the Templars at the door to the Circle tower, obviously unaccustomed to apostates demanding entry as the slender elven girl child seemed to be.  


The last he saw of her, she was looking back over her shoulder as she had not done when parting from her clan. Though he was certain she was merely bidding farewell to her life of freedom in the outside world; Solas could not prevent the disconcerting thought that her eyes met his for the briefest of moments before the massive doors swung shut behind her.


End file.
